


Four Months

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Italy Unpacked (TV) RPF
Genre: Christmas Cards, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Light Angst, Longing, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Reflection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: For the challenge set by my good friend Mcicioni, who proposed that we write a fiction where recent news events surrounding the Coronavirus and global lockdown have an effect on Andrew and Giorgio's escapades across Italy - because this would not be a great time for filming travelogues, for sure - sadly.This fic is set in the four months running up to where we are today, with Andrew trying to get a programme commissioned and realising that it's too late for now. It isn't too late, however, to make the call he's been putting off - the longer you go without speaking to someone, the harder it can be to find the right thing to say.
Relationships: Andrew Graham-Dixon/Giorgio Locatelli
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Four Months

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mcicioni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/gifts).

> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

It was December. It was a typical British December. It was white, bleak, but not with snow - it didn't look like the scene on the Christmas card Andrew was currently writing; it was grey and the cloud was unyielding, punctured only by spikes of thorny, dark brown branches - with no robins looking cheerful, chirping and leaving their footprints in the snow. He ran his tongue over the flap of the envelope, wincing at the bitter taste. Giorgio had sent him a card featuring one of Lombardy's ski resorts, looking distinctly alpine and picturesque, and he wished he could be there - wished _both_ of them could. He would call him to thank him in the new year.

It was January. There was a tremor of uncertainty in the new year air - something about a virus in the far east, with many elderly dying. It would all blow over, Andrew was sure. His hands were poised over the keyboard, tapping out an e-mail to BBC executives over the possibility of a new series - he felt positive they would get the green light. He hadn't yet called Giorgio - he wanted to surprise him with the good news. A well-folded, worn around the edges, map of Sardinia was spread across the coffee table, embellished with biro scribblings - points of interest and places with art of note. In a short while, he would know. He looked forward to seeing the grin on Giorgio's face; they had been trying to get this commissioned for years.

It was February. Things had taken a turn for the worst, and the freezing cold weather saw Andrew wanting to fly away to the south of Italy more than ever before. But the sleet and the hail wasn't the worst of it - the news was saying that the virus had spread and Italy had been particularly badly hit. Flights to Italy were still going in and out of the UK, on schedule and rarely cancelled to anywhere other than the North. There was still a chance that their programme might be given the go ahead. He circled the affected geographical area with his finger, the detailed information displayed on his tablet. He remembered their time together in Northern Italy, with stolen kisses on the deserted, midnight Venetian streets - amongst other memorable places. He thought about Giorgio's parents and his family. Would they be alright in all of this? He glanced at the phone and pursed his lips.

It was March. The whole of Italy was locked down by now, and flights were set to be grounded. Even if the BBC were to support the venture - and they had far too much on their minds right now to care - the crew wouldn't have been able to go. In a way, he was glad he hadn't gotten Giorgio's hopes up by telling him that a new programme was likely. What to do now? He cradled the phone in his hand. What would he say? What would they have to talk about after all these months? The Locanda Locatelli restaurant was likely to suffer in the upcoming weeks, he pondered, and perhaps Giorgio was feeling quite frightened and alone. After all, who wasn't at the moment? And Andrew didn't want that. He wanted to be there _for_ him, he realised, as he dialled the numbers - even if he couldn't be there _with_ him.

So he held his breath while the call connected, never having waited so long to hear a simple 'Ciao, Andrea' on the other end of the line, but - all he could say was that it was worth the wait - because the many days and months just melted away. "Ciao," Andrew replied, with a broad smile.


End file.
